Not Yet
by illegiblewriter
Summary: *One-Shot**B/V* The night before the Cell Games, she'll hold her son and cry and whisper how she loves him, but nothing can be done about the man in the other room-- the father who doesn't understand yet.


**Not Yet**

The living room slowly emptied as each of the Z Warriors left the Capsule Corp grounds for their own homes to spend what could be their last night alive in the comfort of their own beds. Bulma saw each of them out to the front door, hugged Yamucha and Krillin and Puar and Tien, and carefully avoided the lecherous Oolong. A sad smile played upon her lips as she watched them disappear, mere pinpricks in the sky just moments later. Sadly turning around, hoping she had not just seen her best friends for the last time, she walked upstairs to the kitchen and sat down next to her sons, the oldest of whom was feeding the other.

"Thanks for feeding him, Trunks. I'll take it from here," and taking the baby spoon, she scooped up some mashed carrots from the jar and began making airplane noises.

"Thanks Mom, I think I'm gonna call it a night, too. We have to get up early tomorrow."

"Of course, honey. Give me kiss, will you?" The older Trunks smiled and walked around the table and leaned over for a hug and kiss.

"I love you, you know?" She asked.

"Of course, you already told me—twenty years in the future," there was a twinkle in his blue eyes as he made fun of the way his younger mother was already so alike the woman he had grown up with.

"I know, but, I can't tell the _other_ you that," Bulma cast a sad glance on the baby Trunks, happily bouncing in his high chair and smearing his carrots all over his face and in his hair. There was something allusive about the way she added, "he doesn't understand yet."

Trunks wasn't quite sure he said the right thing when he responded, "he will. Goodnight, Mom."

"Goodnight, Trunks."

Lilililili

Bulma sighed as she left the kitchen, running her fingers through her hair and feeling exhausted. Bunny had taken Trunks to the fourth floor for his bath, so Bulma was left alone to ponder for a few minutes before she put him to bed. Bunny wanted to be the one to take care of everything tonight, thinking that Bulma would want the free time, but Bulma'd be damned if she didn't spend her every last moment with her son. All she really wanted to do was hold on to her little baby boy and never let go.

Slowly walking into the living room, thinking maybe she'd go out on the balcony to think, she saw that her idea had already been taken by the only other Z Warrior remaining in the house.

He stood in the middle of the living room, still wearing the tan slacks and yellow shirt she had given him that morning, and gazing out the floor-length windows into the setting sun. Very little of the cityscape cut into the view from this room so that most of the window was filled with the orange sky. The light cast faint pink and yellow into the room, making everything in the otherwise beige space glow. Bulma was mesmerized, caught up in the sunset just as much as Vegeta was, watching the unusual colors spread across the sky. She walked a little bit closer to the window, drawn to the awe-inspiring array of oranges, when she saw Vegeta's reflection in the glass.

His arms were crossed, his weight even distributed on each foot, a common stance for him except for the way his eyes were clouded over and lost. It was a pensive expression she had only seen a few times, usually when he was thinking about his home planet, and Bulma wondered if maybe Earth had finally garnered enough respect from him to be included in his mysterious thoughts. Something pulled at her heart the more she looked into the reflection of his eyes as she cautiously walked up behind him.

She felt him stiffen slightly when she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his back. She could no longer see the sunset that had so transfixed them both, so she closed her eyes and inhaled into his shirt, taking in everything about the way he felt and smelled right at this moment.

The always emotionally detached Vegeta did little except to relax, not even taking her freezing hands into his, though it would have been easy. He said nothing, and continued to gaze out the window. This did nothing to dishearten the woman nuzzling her head into his back, she was just glad he hadn't pushed her away. She continued to hold him, doing her best to commit his body, his scent and the way he inhaled and exhaled, all to memory, but worried that no memory could ever do him justice. Faintly, she thought of the baby upstairs, with whom she would spend the entire night holding while he slept, whispering and crying to him, telling him how much she loved him and how she wanted nothing more than to hold him in her arms the rest of her life. Unbidden, the thought came that she might never be able to say such things to the man now in her arms.

As she said earlier, he didn't understand yet.

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